The Illusionist
by M.G36
Summary: He is a strange performer, a brilliant magician, composer, and playwright who hides a dark secret beneath his mask. She is an aspiring Pokemon performer in need of some much needed guidance. What happens when they cross paths one fateful day?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A warm welcome to anyone who might be reading this. I would like to start off by saying that this is the first piece of fanfiction I have ever written. I would also like to say that, unfortunately, it has been quite a while since I've written anything that wasn't an essay. I might be a tad rusty in some areas as a result; I know that's hardly an excuse for poor word choice or lackluster descriptions, but I figured I should at least put it out there. It is for those reasons that I would appreciate any reviews you might give me. As a novice writer, constructive criticism is the only way I can grow.**

 **One more thing: I'm not sure how often I'll be able to upload new chapters. I don't often leave free time in my schedule for writing stories like this, so I truly apologize if a long span of time goes by between uploads!**

 **Now, enough delay on my part! I hope you enjoy the first chapter.**

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 **Chapter 1**

The Théâtre Garnier was one of the largest and most successful in the bustling city of Lumiose, and rose amongst the neighboring skyscrapers with all the pride that was expected of it. It was a pale stone building with a domed roof, it's outer skeleton adding a vaguely 18-century vibe to an otherwise contemporary cityscape. No less than fifteen steps led up to the grand pillars that guarded its entrance. The great oak and glass double doors were spread wide, inviting in any customers who'd pre-ordered their tickets for the evening's show. A strange mix of electric and candle light poured from this wide mouth, twinkled through the arched windows that served as eyes to the outside world.

Inside was almost nothing short of controlled chaos, for hundreds of people milled about the expansive foyer. The heat of their packed bodies combined with that radiated by the numerous chandeliers and wall sconces; though spring air filtered in through the doors and the central cooling system was running, neither could quite combat the stuffiness. Be that as it may, the thick atmosphere was charged with excitement so tangible it all but bore a taste.

Adults and teenagers alike clutched their white ticket stubs as though they were gold doubloons. Eager chatter bounced tumultuously off the peach-colored walls and high ceilings. Tossed back and forth in the jumbled mess of conversations were words including "magic" and "music". However, one central word seemed to glue everything together. It was whispered into anticipating ears behind the veil of a hand, as though it were some dark secret that should never be overheard. A forbidding word though it was, it evoked powerful mystique in the minds of those who heard it: "Phantom".

The chime of a grandfather clock tolled faintly from somewhere within; the mass of people began to move in one great migratory herd. Individual groups were forced to lock hands for fear of being swept away by the flow of bodies. Across the black-and-white tiled floors they went, up the sweeping staircase and down the hallway to the right. Eventually the crowd was cut in thirds as the hallway split into three separate corridors, small and dim in comparison to the rest of the building's grandeur. It was only a short walk, however, before the tunnel-like passages opened into a giant cavern.

If the façade and the lavish entrance hall were any indication of the theatre's decadence, the auditorium was it's crowning jewel. Plush crimson carpet muffled the steps of the audience as they searched for their seats. Row upon row of chairs appeared to stretch as far as the eye could see, their dark-stained frames peeking out beneath a vast sea of red velvetine cushions. Along three walls were boxes reserved for anyone who could afford a handsome fee. Those lucky few would be granted a magnificent birds-eye view of the sprawling chestnut stage, whose polished floorboards nearly reflected the the folds of the red curtain that served as its backdrop. Far above the center aisle hung the theatre's pride and joy: a monstrous chandelier whose gilded branches held hundreds of dangling crystals.

Down in the orchestra pit, a lone musician faced the stage. Upon a quick glance at her formal attire, one might estimate her to be far older than her modest twenty years. Her shoulder length hair was pulled tightly back into a dark braid, which painted her narrow face with uncharacteristic intensity. A deep sapphire gown hugged her slim figure and brought out the passion in her chocolate brown eyes. Pale fingers flipped through the pages of sheet music organized on the metal stand before her.

Though she'd practiced for hours over the past week, her mind whirled and black specks swam in her vision. The complexity of each tune alone was daunting, but the speed with which she was expected to transition between songs even more so. She closed her eyes as the usual pre-performance nausea caused her stomach to turn like a cement mixer. It was a terrible and unfortunate habit of hers, one that she'd tried to shake since starting these performances over two years ago. Of course, she was always unsuccessful; no amount of breathing exercises or meditation seemed ample enough suppress her jitters.

 _Oh, just relax, Anna. You'll do fine,_ she silently ordered, allowing herself another second to quell the nerves that simmered in her blood. _You've never missed a beat, and you're definitely not going to tonight! Just pretend he's your only audience and play your heart out like always._

The latter may have seemed reasonably soothing advice in theory, but those words were always risky in practice; her partner could be unbelievably critical of mistakes if he was in the wrong mood.

Noting the time on her silver wristwatch—7:55 pm—the young woman leaned down and unlatched the black case at her feet. An antique violin and bow rested on a bed of purple satin. She picked up the instrument with careful hands and hastily began to tune it. Notes wept from the strings, a simple melody floating through the air and combining with the clamor. As the haunting music reached their ears, the crowd's volume dropped to a murmur whilst they listened. Once the sound quality was to her satisfaction, the young musician steadied her bow, the violin still positioned at her left collarbone.

Similar to the audience, all she could do now was wait.

Eight o' clock rolled around at last. The shift in hour brought a sudden hush over the auditorium. The newer, untrained eyes in the audience remained fixed on the stage; with the lack of knowledge concerning tonight's magician came the pre-conceived notion that he would sporadically appear center stage in a ball of fire or plume of smoke, little did they know of his aversion to such flashy and ubiquitous entrances. Those who were more well versed in his illusions allowed their gazes to flit about like agitated butterflies. They scanned the stage's gloomy wings, the catwalks above, and even some of the unrented boxes in the hopes of catching the first glimpse of their elusive specter.

It was with painful sluggishness that seconds slipped into minutes. The heavy silence began to crack as hissed complaints wove through the crowd.

"What the hell's going on?" a man mumbled to the woman who sat beside him. "It's not like him to keep us waiting."

"Maybe he arrived late tonight, hon," the woman reasoned. "Or maybe he got sick at the last minute and can't go on."

"Sick, huh? If that's the case, I demand a refund!"

As the volume began to escalate, the two men who sat in the front-most box grew increasingly uneasy. The shorter of the pair ran a sweaty hand through his curly silver hair, while the taller man beside him unconsciously fiddled with the buttons of his burgundy sport coat.

"He was here today, Andre," the latter said as he forced his fidgeting hands to grip the armrests of his chair. His voice was weak, as though he was trying to convince himself as well as his fellow manager. "Just this afternoon. I saw him practicing with Anna. My eyes aren't what they used to be, but I know they weren't playing tricks on me."

"Well, that's all fine and dandy, Firmin, but it's nearly 8:05 and people are getting restless!" his cohort snapped.

Meanwhile, the violinist remained poised, seemingly impervious to the crackling tension in the atmosphere. The roar of the audience was but a dull buzzing in her ears, though it became harder to block out with every passing moment. Give it a few more minutes and her managers would likely have a full blown riot on their hands. She rolled her eyes in spite of this, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 _Oh, he'll show up. No need to worry about that. It's only a matter of when._

No sooner had the smug thought entered her mind than the lights went out.

Screams erupted as the auditorium was plunged into total darkness, save for the green Exit signs that glowed in the back. People rose as panic and confusion flared in their chests. Friends called to one another in terror, strangled "What happened?"s and "Are you okay?"s. Strangers clutched each other, seeking the sensation of something warm and solid to ground them in the disorienting blackness. Amid the mounting distress an eerie melody ghosted from the strings of a violin, wordlessly urging everyone to stay in their seats and remain calm.

Accompanied by this chilling tune came a sight that left many in the audience rubbing their eyes, for surely they must be deceiving them. Two tiny points of light had appeared over center stage. They were bright gold, a pair of embers burning through the impenetrable shadows. The entire crowd stared at these strange orbs with equal parts fear and awe; the theatre itself seemed to be holding its breath.

There was the slightest whisper of fabric on fabric as the crowd collectively jumped in their chairs. A disembodied chuckle bounced around the cavernous room, a rumbling so quiet and darkly amused that it made the hair on the back of one's neck stand on end. Words immediately followed this terrifying laughter, spoken by a voice could only be described as hypnotic. It was low to the point of growling, yet smooth as the petals of a rose; threatening and commanding, while undeniably soothing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I truly apologize for my inexcusable delay. I fully intend to make it up to you with a show you shall not soon forget. Now, without further adieu, I bid you all welcome."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A quick thank you to the two wonderful people who've Followed and Reviewed this story so far. Your support and feedback means the world to me!**

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 **Chapter 2**

The lights blazed back to life just as suddenly as they'd died. A warm golden glow emanated from the chandelier, an angelic halo above the crowd, while the floodlights hanging from the flies glared harshly down onto the stage. The audience were forced to clamp their eyes shut in an effort to avoid being dazzled; it was only upon opening them again did they notice that the stage was no longer bare.

Standing there, statuesque, was a figure so clothed in black that he could have been a living shadow. A velvet cloak was draped across his gaunt shoulders, flowed like a sable waterfall down to his polished shoes and hid everything underneath from view. Atop his head was an elegant fedora whose wide brim kept his visage in perfect shadow. The only features one could hope to see were the two gleaming pinpricks that were his eyes.

There was a flash of white as a skeletal hand untangled itself from the cloistering fabric. It was with dramatic slowness that the strange magician—the Phantom—pushed his hat up to allow the audience their first glimpse of his face; his cunning golden gaze flicked as he gauged the reactions of the packed house. The vast majority were obviously old followers of his, for he was met with countless unimpressed stares. The newcomers, however, were forced to conceal surprised gasps behind their palms. Whatever they might have expected, it certainly hadn't been this: eclipsing the right half of his face, like a bright crescent moon, was a mask.

In spite of himself, the Phantom found the left corner of his mouth twitching upwards. Normally such outward expressions of shock would have sent his blood boiling; indeed, even someone being so rude as to stare at his unusual accessory would've received a scowl in return. But now, with him onstage and they seated below, there was no need for him to feel threatened. Here it meant fresh pairs of eyes and ears would bare witness to his magic. New blood, so to speak. They had no expectations, nor any clue what was coming. And that made things all the more enjoyable for him.

The music steadily increased in tempo to offer him his cue.

"Let's begin, shall we?"

What followed was a series of baffling stunts, accompanied by ever-changing instrumentals from the violinist. These melodies would shift in perfect sync with the acts and the moods each yearned to project; the general speed and pitch would increase to reflect a sense of peril or unease, or otherwise decrease to reflect an air of darkness and mystery.

The Phantom's first trick was always admittedly tame, for he was a firm believer in whetting the audience's appetite before giving them what they really came for. On this night it was a trick he'd affectionately dubbed "Double Team". As it's name might imply to the well-informed, it was a queer illusion that involved him apparently making copies of himself out of thin air. The crowd cooed as several perfect replicas of the magician shimmered into being, two on the left, two on the right. With an arch glint in his eye, the Phantom in the middle darted this way and that round the stage, as did his clones, until it became impossible to tell which one was real and which were fake. Once the crowd was thoroughly cross-eyed, all five figures exited stage left.

It was only about ten seconds before someone in the back gave a startled scream, causing every head to turn. One of the Phantoms leaned casually by the emergency exits, his mask taking on a sickly green tint from the lit sign above his head. All at once everyone began to shift in their seats. They craned their necks and twisted like landed fish, taking the bait and partaking in a real-life game of "Where's Waldo?".

Slowly but surely, three other Phantoms were found; whether they were the real thing or just the mirages was anyone's guess. The second one was discovered by a small group sitting in one of the boxes near the stage: one of the woman had turned to get something from her purse, only to spot a tall shadow staring at her from a dark corner. She'd alerted her companions, thinking herself insane. But of course they saw it, too, and a split second later everyone else knew the apparition's whereabouts.

The third was found by accident. An old man sitting near the center aisle had, for reasons unknown even to him, happened to glance at the ceiling. His astonished cry was loud enough to wake the dead. A black silhouette hid amongst the many glittering bulbs and crystals of the chandelier, one bone-white hand wrapped around the supportive chain and his boots settled in one of the links.

The fourth, coincidentally, was located by the managers. Feeling slightly foolish but not wanting to be left out, MM. Andre and Firmin had hesitantly joined in the hunt. They'd first looked in every nook of their box to ascertain that they were indeed it's only occupants. Finding nothing but their belongings and a wrinkled program on one of the shelves, they then leant over the ledge of their box. Their eyes wandered lazily at first, but eventually darted vigorously as the heat of competition made their hearts pound faster. In the end it was M. Firmin who hollered, with a childish gaiety he'd probably regret later, that the second to last Phantom was sitting against the wall of the orchestra pit, silently watching the violinist as she played.

Though the night was still early, the excitement in the room seemed to have already reached it's peak. People were literally on their feet, turning in circles until they became dizzy. The world around them became a mess of red and gold blurs as they searched feverishly for a dark form, the glint of eyes, the stark flash of a mask. When no such evidence presented itself, they began to wonder if they were in fact being played for fools. Who was to say that the real Phantom hadn't gotten rid of one of his shades without their knowledge? He could be scrutinizing them this very moment from atop the chandelier chain, or listening to their puzzled exclamations from any of the other spots around the room!

A bout of vicious laughter cut the air like lightning, confirming at least some of their suspicions. Those standing dropped into their seats as the sound about deafened them. As usual, it seemed to come from every direction at once.

"I must congratulate those individuals—the young man in the back row, the lady in Box 3, the gentleman on the aisle, and my manager M. Firmin—who were observant enough to find my copies. However, I regret to inform you that that was all they were: mere copies. Little more than ghosts that I can bend to my will. I myself am hiding in relatively plain sight. Would a clue help? Alright, then. I am in a place many of you thought to look for me before the lights went out."

Almost immediately, every gaze flew to the rafters above the stage. And there it was: a thin slash of white nearly camouflaged by streaks of pale light and inky shadow.

The Phantom stepped cautiously across the catwalk until he stood above center stage. Along the way he raised his hand ever so slightly; unbeknownst to all but him, his clones dissipated like fog in the morning sun. Warm amusement stirred inside him as he looked out from his precarious perch into the audience below. How simple they were to entertain. How easy they were to fool.

Without a word he pulled a coil of ruby rope from an inside pocket of his cloak. Letting one end fall to the thin boards beneath his boots, he set to work tying the other around the handrail. He tugged at it several times to be certain that his knots were secure. Once thoroughly confident, he turned his attention to the sleeping snake at his feet. His long, bony fingers moved deftly over the thick braids as he twisted them. Though he kept his eyes firmly on his task, he allowed his ears to wander. Sweet, gentle music caressed his senses, his partner's bow dancing over the fine strings like a practiced ballerina. Beyond that lay a thick veil of quiet.

 _We shall see how long that lasts,_ the Phantom mused. A dark smirk curled his lips as he admired the red loop in his hands. The tune that swirled around the magician quickened it's pace, setting the stage for his newest trick.

The sick little smile still plastered to the exposed half of his face, the Phantom turned to reveal his handiwork. A wave rippled through the auditorium as the crowd leaned forward to get a better view.

Upon seeing the bright red noose clasped in the magician's outstretched fist, they all at once recoiled in horror. The theatre was once again abuzz with human white noise as people turned to whisper to one another. A sharp whistle extinguished the commotion as soon as it began, forcing everyone to hesitantly raise their eyes.

In the moments that their attention was diverted, the Phantom had managed to slip the rope around his neck.

"Surely you didn't expect me to get down from here by walking," he chided the helpless onlookers. His gold eyes glittered like those of a madman as he vaulted over the railing.

It was truly a disturbing sight to behold. The magician fell for what could have been hours or a split second, the rope being pulled along behind him like a solid trail of blood. Longer and longer the trail grew; it appeared as though it would never end. Then, in a jarring instant, the rope became taught. The noose tightened. The Phantom's head jerked so violently that his hat was knocked to the stage six feet below. He did not stop; due to the momentum of the jump, the body continued to move like some macabre pendulum. Backwards, though an unperceivable gap in the red curtains beyond.

The audience stared with grave attention as the noose swung forward again, the corpse—for what else could it be called at this point?— mysteriously vanished. No one moved or spoke. No one even dared breathe, lest they detect the musty smell that accompanied death. The auditorium had become like a morgue in it's stillness and silence, for even the music had suddenly halted in the middle of a high note.

A slight movement in the wings made the whole theatre jump. The Phantom stalked from the shadows, miraculously unharmed despite his suicidal actions. A single clap became two, three, then hundreds. The audience whooped and cheered in amazement—some people actually started to cry out of sheer relief.

"Normally I wouldn't bother saying this," he said seriously, bending down to pluck his fedora from where it lay. "But please don't try any of my stunts at home. I am a trained professional, after all."

Placing the hat back on his head, the Phantom turned on his heel to face the roaring crowd. His eyes flickered to the violinist, catching her expectant gaze in his. He gave her a small nod.

"Now, in the interest keeping you all on your toes, I've decided to switch things up a bit. Before the show tonight, my partner Anna hid a stack of sheet music under one of your seats. Whoever finds it will be given the chance to come up on stage and perform with me."

At the mention of her name, the young violinist stood from her chair, abandoning her instrument on the floor for the time being. Walking over to the stairs and out of the orchestra pit, she gingerly rubbed her chafed fingers together while she waited. Her gaze swept across the seats beneath the chandelier. She'd cleverly placed the music somewhere nearby; not only was it her job to acquire the sheet music necessary for this next act, but also to lead the audience member to the stage in a somewhat timely fashion.

A surprised squeal pierced the relative calm like a spear. Anna's legs immediately started to carry her toward the source of the sound. A quarter of a way up the aisle, a girl got up from her seat to meet the musician in the middle.

Upon getting a closer look, Anna frowned in slight concern. Regardless of gender or age, she'd expected nothing short of ecstasy from the lucky fan who discovered the music; this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, performing alongside the infamous Phantom, and the violinist had prepared herself for an excited reaction of the highest caliber. What she saw here was anything but.

The girl was innocent and young, perhaps no older than fourteen. Wide ocean-blue eyes sparkled with nervousness beneath the brim of her red felt hat. One quavering hand brushed a lock of short blond hair behind her ear, while the other pinned the white sheets of paper to her chest like her life depended on it.

A dart of sympathy struck the musician square in the chest. It was clear from her body language that this was the poor girl's first exposure to the Phantom's peculiar magic acts.

"What's you name?" Anna asked in a murmur, the question passing her lips before she could stop it. If the prospect of going onstage was enough to make the girl quake in terror, Anna figured the least she could do was call her by a proper name.

"S-Serena." The reply came out as nothing more than a whisper choked between ragged breaths.

"Are you alright to do this, Serena?" Anna continued kindly, praying that the girl wouldn't crumple to her knees in a panic attack. "You can opt out and let someone else take your place. It's not like we're forcing you to do something you're uncomfortable with."

"No… I can do this," the girl answered, only slightly louder than before.

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes. I can do this. I _have_ to do this." And she handed over the sheet music without another word.

Torn between pity and admiration, and sensing the pair of curious golden eyes boring relentlessly into her back, Anna had no choice but to accept. Taking up the papers, she laid a gentle hand on Serena's tense shoulder and guided her to the stage. She kept the pace measured and slow, allowing her companion plenty of time to change her mind if she wished. In the end, it was all for not; the girl had steadied her quaking and slipped on a mask of grim determination. This she kept firmly in place even as she walked up the steps to what she could only perceive as her doom.

"Well, this is where I leave you. Just follow his instructions and you'll do perfectly fine. And remember: it's a magic show. Try to have fun."

With that, Anna threw the girl an encouraging smile before making her way back down to the orchestra pit. Setting the sheet music on the stand, she picked up her violin and began to play.

It was only now, looking at the song's title and hearing those low, haunting notes in her ears, did she realize how perfectly it mirrored poor Serena's situation. Almost mocked it. "Past the Point of No Return" indeed.

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 **My apologies to any confused reader who might be thinking, "How in the world did the Phantom manage to pull ANY of those stunts off!?". I don't intend to directly explain many of the peculiar things he's able to do, at least not at this point in the story. Just remember that this is Erik we're talking about.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! If there's one thing that motivates me to continue this little story of mine, it's feedback. So please keep it coming!**

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Chapter 3

Serena could not remember a time when she'd been more terrified. The moment her boots touched the stage, her control began to unravel. Her thin mask of bravery chipped at the edges; she gnawed at her bottom lip, began to toy with the sky-blue ribbon around her neck. She felt utterly exposed underneath the bright lights, neath the scrutinizing eyes of an audience now cloaked in shadow.

She tugged her long red vest tighter around her torso as though to shield herself from the painful memories. The first time she'd set foot onstage had also been her last. And what a train-wreck it had been.

Her Showcase debut had started out well enough—she and her Pokémon partner, Fennekin, had strutted down the runway side by side. Their senses were assaulted by the raucous cheers, the blinding white flashes, but the buzz of nervous excitement was enough to keep them moving forward. And then, just when she'd allowed herself to smile, everything fell apart. In her peripheral vision, Serena saw her tiny fox Pokémon trip; she'd swooped down and cradled the shivering creature against her chest, but it was too late for second chances. She could not bring herself to continue.

The stunned silence never registered in her ears; all she heard were hoots of mocking laughter.

The traumatic experience shattered Serena's confidence like a fragile teacup. After that she'd cut her hair, changed her look so that she was almost unrecognizable. And, above all else, she'd vowed to never go onstage again.

 _And yet here you are, one month later,_ a small voice piped up. Yes, here she was. Out to prove to herself that she would not be hounded by the ghosts of her past.

 _What a stupid stupid girl you are!_ The thought blared so loudly that Serena could've sworn she'd screamed it aloud. Fresh terror curled it's chains around her throat, obstructing her airway. Her vision grew dark and the world started to sway.

What she wouldn't give to just pass out and have it all be over.

A cold touch shocked Serena out of her tortured thoughts, caused her surroundings to snap back into focus. She glanced down at the long fingers that encircled her wrist like handcuffs; in her moment of panic, she'd completely forgotten that she was a guest on someone else's stage.

Her gaze meandered upward, past a black sleeve, a white collar barely visible, to look the magician in the eye. While the left side of his face was the one on display, it was the right half that held her attention. The white plastic mask was sculpted to look intimidating, with a high cheekbone and arched brow designed to veil the wearer's eye in shadow. What it concealed was a mystery, though Serena noticed upon close inspection that not everything remained hidden. A small scar ran across his upper lip, the corner of which was tipped a dark purple. His right eye was oddly triangular in shape, as though it hadn't developed right, and ringed with purple and gray like it was bruised.

"Breathe, child. Listen to me and breathe." The Phantom spoke for Serena's ears alone, his voice so low and calm that the girl found herself instantly entranced. "You have no reason to be afraid. I promise no harm will come to you. Now, what is your name?"

She answered him with crystalline clearness, all the fear suddenly gone from her voice. It was like someone had flipped a switch in her body, causing her heartrate to return to normal, her constricted lungs to take in air again.

"Serena," the magician announced to the crowd. "A lovely name for a lovely young lady. Follow me, if you please."

His grip on her tightened as he led her across the polished floorboards, stopping only when they reached just left of center. The Phantom turned to face her, his cloak swishing round his ankles as he did so. He could tell by the tiny creases in her forehead that the girl was not entirely at ease. Momentarily abandoning his normal professional aloofness, he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. This girl was nothing to him but another human being, yet he couldn't deny that her expression made his heart ache.

"Two tricks," he murmured. "That's all I ask. And they'll be easy—you'll hardly have to lift a finger. When you see me blink I want you to raise your hand and push the air in front of you. Until then, just relax and enjoy the music."

With a fleeting smile, the Phantom retreated back several paces until he stood at the opposite end of the stage. Serena remained rooted to the spot. The song on the sheet music she'd delivered was still being played, a romantic sort of waltz with a dark undercurrent. The melody made her want to both succumb to it's spell and clutch herself with unease. Judging by his looks, it didn't take much for Serena to assume that the man before her was the genius who'd penned it.

The overhead lights dimmed until the performers found themselves in the same muddy gloom as the audience. Serena could see nothing of the mysterious Phantom save for his towering silhouette and shining yellow irises.

The moments that followed could have been ripped from the reels of a horror movie. One by one they materialized in the furthest corners of the room, bobbed and spun among the branches of the chandelier: shimmering Will-O-Wisps seemingly possessed. Like creeping predators, they floated silently over the crowd, casting ghostly blue light on people's faces as they advanced.

Serena was not aware of the roaring pulse in her ears, nor of the fact that her muscles had gone rigid as stone. All the she knew was the chilling music, the staring points of gold, the fist-sized balls of flame that now circled around her head like restless spirits and washed the stage with their sputtering cobalt glow. And deep down, beneath the dread she couldn't perceive, she was in awe; this was truly magic at it's finest.

The golden orbs flickered, forcing Serena from her stupor. Her right arm felt as though it was made of lead when she raised it. Following the Phantom's instructions, she pushed at the empty air in front of her face.

Without warning four flames shot straight at the magician. In a movement so quick it was almost unseen, he lifted his own hand. There were gasps of utter disbelief as a sphere of dark energy bloomed at his fingertips, capturing the balls of fire like electrons around an atom.

Serena's mouth moved on it's own accord. Though no words came out, in her mind she was shrieking. _Is that…it can't be! But that's the only thing it CAN be—a Pokémon move! He's using a Pokémon move?! That…that's impossible!_

Across the stage, the Phantom grinned at the astonishment in his young helper's eyes, the residual amusement from his hanging stunt bubbling over into delight. This was the part of show business he'd grown to adore: the looks of shock his acts effortlessly procured, that beautiful combination of wonderment and horror. A sharp bark of laughter burst from his lips as his mood morphed into barely controlled excitement; there was tension in the room, tension against his hand as the purple ball of energy—a Shadow Ball, as it was known—wavered and crackled with the need to be released.

"Let my Shadow Ball fly!" The Phantom's bellow shook the walls as he turned on the audience. With a simple flick of his wrist, the sphere and the flames were launched into the air. They flew through the darkness in an arch, exploding near the ceiling in a glorious shower of violet sparks and blue embers.

Serena could only watch, thunderstruck, as the feat was repeated twice more. She didn't remember moving her arms, but found herself clapping along with the bewildered crowd when the lights rose up again. A cyclone of emotions raged in her head as the Phantom strolled up to her.

His expression might have settled into an unreadable mask, but that did not diminish the impact of his looming presence. That air of mystery and threat still billowed off him like black fog.

"And now for my final trick of the evening. Whether you in the audience have been fans of mine from the very beginning, or this is your first time seeing me, you'll no doubt have noticed my knack for the sleight of hand. You heard it in the way I was able to throw my voice, saw it just a moment ago. My clever illusions baffle both the ears and eyes—and, by extension, the mind. I plan on taking that notion one step further tonight. I will make Serena here see something that's not really there, experience it with all her senses at once."

A frigid finger curled under Serena's chin, tilting her head back and trapping her in the Phantom's burning gaze. Her heart a racing lump in her throat, the girl squeezed her eyes shut.

Warm breath tickled her ear.

"Empty your mind, child. Purge it of all those squabbling thoughts, undo all the ropes that bind it to reality. Ignore the heat radiating from the lights, the sound of the violin—let even my voice fade into the background. The only thing you know is your body and the dark void behind your eyelids."

It was almost frightening how quickly Serena fell under his influence. Within the span of a few seconds she felt as though she was floating. Beyond the fact that she was still a physical being with a physical body, nothing registered in her semiconscious brain; not the temperature, not the floor under her feet, not the terror that had previously consumed her. The only thing to ground her in this black limbo was that beautifully hypnotic voice, now little more than a faraway whisper.

"Now let a new world gradually trickle into your perception. Do you hear that? The soft sighing of leaves rustling, the chirps of bird Pokémon nesting in the canopy? Can you feel the moist breeze as it whips your hair, filling your nose with musky scents of tree bark and greenery? Can't you just picture the vast forest of emerald all around you?"

She could. Oh yes, she could! The nothingness had been invaded by sensations of touch and sound and smell; even the faintest outline of a forest flashed behind her closed lids.

"Now…open your eyes."

In spite of the stimulus that told her otherwise, Serena half expected a white mask to be the first thing she saw. Instead she found herself alone in an endless shady wood, surrounded by trees and foliage so lifelike she swore they must be real. Afternoon sunlight dappled the path in front of her, kissed the skin of her arm; above her head the sky was pale and scattered with puffy white clouds.

Questions whirred in her brain by the millions. How was this possible? Where in the world was she? What this the true reality—had the theater simply been a vivid daydream and she'd been out here the entire time? Or was this just some fantasy conjured up and projected into her vulnerable mind? She couldn't hear the Phantom's voice anymore, so there was no way of knowing.

 _Well, I… I guess there isn't much I can do about it,_ Serena reasoned with a shrug.

At a loss for what else to do, she began walking down the little dirt trail.

* * *

Serena did not feel it when the Phantom grasped her shoulders, firmly locking her in place as she shuffled her feet. Her glassy eyes stared through him as though he was every bit the ghost his name implied.

He glanced sidelong at the the audience; they sat on the edge of their seats, waiting impatiently for him to indulge them.

"I've hypnotized her, you see," he explained, turning the girl so that she faced the crowd. "Lulled her until she was nearly asleep. Her mind open and wandering, I was left to craft a world for her. Whatever I wanted her to sense became her reality. She's in a forest now, exploring. As far as she's concerned, this theater doesn't exist anymore—nothing does, until I see it fit to deliver her from my elaborate illusion."

To prove his point, the Phantom waved his hand over the girl's blank face and snapped his fingers.

He gritted his teeth when Serena lurched against him, unaccustomed to the touch of strangers. Her head moved to and fro as she appraised her surroundings, overcome as the real world flooded her senses; she froze for a long second, perhaps realizing whose chest she was pressed against. A tiny squeak escaped her throat as she whirled away, roses blossoming on her cheeks.

The Phantom fixed a smug half smile on his face.

"You can confirm that you were walking though a forest, yes?" To this the girl nodded mutely. "That's what I thought. And who in the audience believes her?"

Two young men next to Serena's empty seat—her friends, perhaps—raised their hands. The rest seemed skeptical, cocking their heads to the side and furrowing their brows doubtfully.

The magician's smile only widened, eyes glinting under the brim of his hat. A collective gasp echoed through the room as every eye in the audience glazed over, staring at something only they could see.

"What are you… _how_ are you…?" Serena stammered, her attention flitting between the gaping crowd and the surely insane man standing not five feet away.

"A good magician never reveals his secrets," the Phantom remarked, fingertips brushing his mask absentmindedly. "So I'm afraid that is something you will never be privy to."

He bridged the distance between them in two easy strides, his smile loosing some of it's wickedness. A flash of blood red burst from his wrist; he produced a single de-thorned rose from inside his sleeve.

"Take this as a token of my appreciation. You were incredibly brave tonight and you played your part wonderfully. You are now free to go. A good night to you, my child."

The audience murmured in confusion, their senses abruptly returned to normal, as the Phantom strode to the center of the stage. His gaze swept over the hundreds of gawking faces, over the young girl who gripped his rose to her chest; the violin music was a fast-paced wail in his ears.

"And a good night to all of you, as well. I hope to see you again soon."

With a sense of true finality and a tip of his hat, the Phantom took a bow.

Screams split the air as a vortex of orange fire erupted from the floorboards around his feet, flaring up to where it almost licked the catwalks. The heat was so intense that audience members in the first row felt it nip at their flesh; Serena had to flee the stage in an effort to avoid being singed. People covered their ears against a sudden onslaught of savage cackling.

The noise died along with the flames, eventually petering out entirely.

In their wake they revealed nothing but an empty stage.


End file.
